The humble person doesn’t deny the pain of this world, or her complicity in it, but she does hope. She continues to forage for the sweetness that God has promised. She gleans where she has not planted. Along the fence rows and roadsides. Not in carefully cultivated thickets, but in the wildness of the waysides. Our hands may be scratched and bleeding, we may stink of sweat, our feet sinking in the mud, but there, just within our grasp, is a cluster of hope—a reminder of who God is and how He never fails His children.
